


Punchline

by Arowen12



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Jon is sad, Jonny meets Jon, Spoilers, Takes place around season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arowen12/pseuds/Arowen12
Summary: Two men walk into a bar. Well, it wouldn’t be very accurate to call them men. After all, one is an immortal space pirate, the other is The Archivist. But for the sake of a punch line we shall call them men, so, two men walk into a bar and they both know quite a few stories.
Comments: 46
Kudos: 332
Collections: Mechanisms and Magnus Crossovers that maintain the integrity of mechanisms lore





	Punchline

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I'm here with another fic. I absolutely love TMA and the Mechanisms crossovers and both Jonny and Jon are such interesting characters. Read on and enjoy!

The bar is the type of hole in the wall dingy sort of bar that a few years ago Jon wouldn’t have glanced twice at. In fact, it’s the sort of bar that a scant few years ago Jon would have been absolutely utterly terrified to enter for fear of being mugged. It’s been a long few years. Jon lets out a bitter chuckle at the thought of fearing something so mundane, as if a mugging can hold a candle to being buried alive, or free-falling.

Still, it is a Thursday night, a band has just finished a set, probably some indie band, and there is a content air to the bar. The kind of good of people happy it's almost the weekend and imbibing alcohol.

Jon’s eyes flick around the bar, the clusters of people holding beers, co-workers, dates, friends, people just looking to escape their lives for a bit. His head hums with Knowing, the Eye trying to press it all in, everyone surrounding him has a story, has a life, and he could Know it all. Doesn’t he want to know it all?

Jon’s just thankful he can’t sense anyone with an actual statement.

Scrubbing a hand over his tired eyes Jon settles at the bar, the bartender is a burly man with a thick beard, and when Jon asks for the strongest alcohol they have he looks Jon up and down. Admittedly, Jon is far from an imposing figure, he’s thin, almost painfully so a mix of stress and two kinds of starvation. He doesn’t even know if he can get drunk anymore, has the Eye taken that as well?

Still, after a few scrutinized seconds the bartender nods and turns mixing a drink. There’s music in the background, some old rock and roll that Jon maybe recalls hearing on the radio once or twice, there’s also a general air of conversation and for just a moment, Jon can pretend he’s normal. He can pretend that he has a normal office job, that his coworkers hate him because he’s rude and not because he’s trapped them, that they’re not all serving a literal entity of fear.

The bartender sets the drink in front of Jon with a thunk and he nods and wraps his fingers around the cool glass, beads of water perspire on the sides and it burns going down his throat, Jon doesn’t even feel it. Doesn’t even taste it.

He doesn’t taste much these days.

Someone slides onto the stool beside him. Jon ignores whoever it is for a long moment, he’s not really in the mood for conversation, not when he can know everything about a person before they open their mouth, and he’s definitely not in the mood for a hookup.

The person scoffs and says, “You going to be able to handle that?”

They have a voice that’s low, rough like they’ve been talking all day. Jon raises a brow and turns his head slightly, there’s a man sitting beside him wearing honest to God goggles on his head, they look almost like old aviator goggles, a trench coat which Jon could probably find in the pirate section during Halloween. But it’s the eyes that get him, dark streaks, like lightning, like fractals bleed from his eyes.

The lines are dark, they look like tattoos but are somehow deeper, darker. The eyes themselves are intense, piercing, as if they see straight through Jon.

The man raises an eyebrow and Jon can see him studying him back, he feels suddenly self-conscious of the scars covering his body, the remnants of Prentiss’ attack, where Daisy’s knife bit into his throat, his burned hand, the streaks of white running thick through his hair.

“I’ll handle it fine,” Jon finally says and as if to attest to this he takes another sip of the burning alcohol, feels it carve a passage through his chest right past his missing ribs.

The man blinks as if surprised, or maybe impressed, a rakish, charming sort of grin slides across his face and he says, “Johnny D’Ville at your service.”

“Jonathan Sims,” Jon replies and tucks the name away, wondering if perhaps it won’t show up in a statement a few days later and Jon will realise that he’s had a run in with yet another avatar and somehow miraculously survived.

D’Ville hums for a moment still watching Jon and he wonders if this is what it’s like when he takes a statement before the man says casually, “You look like someone who’s heard a lot of stories.”

“I could say the same for you,” Jon replies, the words slip out before he can really think about them but it rings true. The Eye, that sense of _something_ lingers about D’Ville the same way alcohol lingers on the breaths of those around him.

“That’s certainly true,” D’Ville says smiling now in amusement, he takes a swig of what Jon is certain is whiskey and continues, “I know many stories, seen a lot of stories turn from fact, to myth, to legend.”

“Does it get tiring?” Jon can’t help but question, curious, always curious.

“Haven’t gotten tired yet, or maybe I had and forgot, hard to tell when you’ve been alive some odd four hundred years,” D’Ville replies casually as if the average human lifespan is anywhere close to that. Jon just nods a part of him is almost certain that the man across from him is an avatar. The Slaughter? The Spiral? The Eye?

“I’ve lived far less and I’m already quite tired,” Jon says quietly running a hand through his hair and taking another swig of his drink. He doesn’t quite know why he’s confessing to a stranger in a bar of all people. But perhaps there doesn’t have to be a reason why.

“Perhaps you’re not meant to be a narrator then, or perhaps you need some variation in your diet,” D’Ville replies faux casually with a shrug of his shoulders but his intense eyes are focused wholly on Jon.

“You might be right, not like there’s anyway I can escape though. You?” Jon replies and finishes the last of his drink, he thinks he might distantly feel the slightest touch of a buzz. Ah well, at least he could probably drink Daisy under the table now.

“Nah I’m in this business for life,” D’Ville replies and then with a laugh adds, “Course depends on your definition of life. I’ve died more times than I can count.”

“The perks of immortality,” Jon says cheerlessly and flags down the bartender for another. The man gives him a dubious look, glances at the man next to him and decides its better not to question it. His boyfriend will be worried if he keeps getting involved in strange situations and his sister’s expecting in a month.

“Oh, another immortal?” D’Ville asks and he tilts his head as if suddenly he can taste Jon’s story, compel it out of him. He almost wouldn’t mind. He’s wondered what it would feel like for a while.

“I suspect so, amputation hasn’t stuck,” Jon replies and maybe the alcohol has loosened his tongue slightly.

“Ah I’ve lost my head a few times, nasty piece of work. So, what do you do?” D’Ville questions running his fingers lightly at the gun holstered at his side, it is not a gun that Jon has ever seen before, though perhaps something similar has been described in the science fiction novels he likes.

“Archivist, I’m the Archivist, I take statements, stories,” Jon replies and nods his head in thanks when the bartender places another drink in front of him, he raises a brow and asks, “You?”

“Space pirate, my crew should be around here somewhere but they’ve been feeling rather mutinous lately so they might have decided to leave me here,” D’Ville says this with a touch of fondness but mostly annoyance before he turns his attention on Jon and asks, “And how might you have become the Archivist?”

“Curiosity,” Jon replies and takes a long sip of his drink.

D’Ville nods sagely and says, “Ah yes the bane of humanity. I was unfortunately gifted with my father’s debt, killed him, had my heart replaced with a mechanical one and well now here we are. It’s a far more interesting story with the musical accompaniment.”

“That sounds painful,” Jon replies with a wince.

“Oh yes incredibly, our dearly departed creator, tossed through an airlock, Dr Carmilla didn’t even use anesthetic, only chloroform,” D’Ville replies jovially tipping back his whiskey with a manic sort of smile. Jon gets the sense that pain and violence are not unfamiliar to D’Ville. The man tips his head and asks, “What about you? Those scars look like they have nasty stories.”

“They do,” Jon pauses biting his lip for a moment before he replies, “An infestation of supernatural worms, murderous cop, and a cultist,” pointing at each scar in turn, old flashes of memory lingering beneath the skin.

“Fun,” D’Ville says sympathetically.

“Not really,” Jon agrees and takes another sip of his drink.

“And now you’re here, drinking your sorrows away,” D’Ville says with all the tone of a man telling a story.

“Quite,” Jon agrees and then running his fingers through the water collecting on the sides of his glass he adds, “Dealing with multiple potential apocalypses will do that.”

“Oh certainty, I’ve witnessed a few myself. Quite a nasty one some centuries away, trains and cosmic horror abound,” D’Ville doesn’t sound at all mournful about said apocalypse before he continues, “Of course we were merely witnessing it, you’re living it.”

It is almost a question, the hunger for a story isn’t a stranger to either of them. Jon just nods takes a sip and says, “I rather suspect I’ll be involved in it somehow and probably for the worst. Not like there’s much humanity for me to care apparently.”

It comes out bitter, of course it does, how can it not when his only ties to said humanity are either a, trying to kill him, b, doesn’t trust him, or c, distancing himself for and from Jon. D’Ville’s expression twists, he probably wasn’t expecting this to turn morose but oh well here they are, then his expression gentles ever so slightly as he says, “You seem rather human to me.”

It warms his chest, maybe that’s the alcohol talking, but he says, “Thanks. I certainly don’t feel it of late.”

“Good ol moral question the hero must face,” D’Ville says in a sort of comforting manner.

Jon laughs short and bitter and says, “I’m not a hero.”

“Hero’s have been made from less,” D’Ville replies and a story lingers there in those words, Jon can taste it but for once he’s not tempted to ask for it.

D’Ville shoots back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet, he pauses and rummages through his coat and places a flyer in front of Jon, in a strange script it reads _The Mechanisms_ there is no date and no location, D’Ville grins and says, “We should be on Earth for a few more days unless I’ve been stranded, you should come watch a show, I think you’ll like our stories.”

“I just might,” Jon says tucking the flyer into his coat pocket he glances up at D’Ville and says, “Thanks.”

“Any time, who knows maybe you can give us your story next time,” D’Ville winks and Jon watches as he strides out of the bar his coat flares behind him. He didn’t pay for his drink. Jon rolls his eyes and slaps a fifty on the bar and rises to his feet.

Heroes have been made of less.

In Jon’s experience being a hero never did him any good, but he’ll keep trying, he’ll keep being human, even if he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. There’s always a choice, sometimes just bad and worse, but he’ll take it.

Stepping outside, Jon takes the flyer out of his pocket and glances at it one more time as he lights a cigarette, he almost wishes he won’t have a story to tell next time. Jon has never been so lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this interpretation of the characters, I had a lot of fun writing it. Comments are always super appreciated, thanks!


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